


Paper Thin

by ItchyToaster



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Letters, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Smut, oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 12:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItchyToaster/pseuds/ItchyToaster
Summary: His eyes flickered to the doorbell, glowing orange as the sky began to darken without the sun. Part of him itched to ring it, to find out if his suspicions were correct. However, they were ridiculous, so Stanley decided to place the note in the black mailbox, lifting the red flag.





	Paper Thin

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Fall! (Finally) In honor of this lovely season enjoy 16,000+ words of Fall Fluff <33

Everything was fair during Fall in New York. The large trees would slowly turn into bright hues of orange and yellows and reds, painting streets with their color as they slowly fell one by one. People started to sport their light jackets and scarves while the wind started to chill the citizens of the city. It was a time that had always been romanticized in poetry and literature. The idea of the cool weather in such a vibrant city was so tantalizing to onlookers who dreamed of one day spending an autumn in New York.

However, as the sun beat down onto the asphalt of crowded one-way streets, it seemed that mother nature had forgotten about the changing of the seasons, as well as one new resident who had scheduled his move-in date on the Autumn equinox in the spirit of ‘new beginnings’.

Stanley Uris had always been a fan of important dates, ones of significance and ones that numerically felt right. The Fall equinox was one of those days, and the young man had put all his plans aside and rearranged multiple errands to finally move into his new apartment in New York on that day.  Because while it was Fall in New York, everything was fair.

But, ‘fair’ was no longer the right word. It was more…

“Fucking exhausting.” Richie snarled as he carried another cardboard box neatly labeled ‘kitchen’ through the threshold of the new Uris abode. The lanky man set the heavy box on top of the kitchen counter with ‘thud’, the sound making the new homeowner turn his head with a bewildered look.

“Be careful with those.” Stanley huffed, the thick summer heat starting to meddle with his temperament as well. Richie rolled his eyes, running a hand through his sweat-slick hair.

“You should’ve waited another week.” He retorted, watching Stanley start to open up the cardboard boxes that had started to accumulate in the kitchen and dining room, though nearly all of the boxes were labeled anything but ‘kitchen’ or ‘dining room’.

Stanley ignored Richie’s complaint, following the taller man out of the comfortable air-conditioned room and onto the crowded congested street where cars piled on either side of a road that was obviously one-way. But, that hardly stopped the vehicles that crammed into every available inch of space to get from place to place and make it with minimal scratches.

Stanley walked down the steps to the station wagon Richie had so graciously let him borrow, seeing his red-haired friend bickering with a driver just a few feet from the curb. The sight was mildly amusing, considering the three of them had been moving in since the early morning and it was well past lunchtime, a time that Beverly Marsh took very seriously. It was rare for her to anything but eat during the hours of 12 pm and 2 pm, but, she was a friend and a very dedicated one at that.

“You move one more inch and you’re gonna hit this fucking car, back the hell up!” Beverly yelled from her spot on the curb, her cheeks red with sunburn and now anger. Her freckles seemed to pop off of her heated skin, green eyes wild with fury. Sometimes, Stanley would take the liberty of talking her down, but those eyes yelled of ‘do not fucking touch me’, so Stanley obeyed the commanding glare.  

The driver snapped back in a heavy Midwestern accent, the sound being so drastically different from the native tongue of New York, though it often passed in many forms. “Shut the hell up lady I know what I’m doing!”

“Look dumbass, I don’t know where the fuck you got your license but it sure as hell wasn’t from no fucking DMV. Get out of here this is a one-way street, fucker!” Beverly barked, gesturing to all the cars that were going the opposite direction.

Stanley laughed quietly to himself as he hoisted two boxes into his arms, carrying them up the stairs while he heard Richie’s obnoxious yell start to chime in with Beverly’s. He climbed back up the steps into the apartment. Stanley shifted the weight of the box in his arms after stepping inside, taking it into the living room.

He set the box down with a huff, stretching his arms out after doing so. He peered out the window to see the driver that Richie and Beverly had been squabbling with speed off in a huff after the road had cleared, still clearly driving down a road he was not meant to be on.

Bev and Richie were triumphantly high-fiving, grinning back as Stanley came to join them.

 

“Gotta, hand it to you, Miss Marsh, you got a real classy way with men.” Richie snorted, earning a playful punch to his arm.

“Like you’re any better.” Bev rolled her eyes, hoisting one of the three boxes still sitting inside the station wagon before making her way back up the steps, Richie following suit.

“Oh Stanny Manny,” Richie called to his friend as he lifted the box labeled ‘Bedroom’ into his arms. “Think you got some mail.” He nodded to the mailbox that was mounted next to the front door.

Stan deadpanned at the grin on Richie’s face. “Did you leave your candy wrapper in there?”

The taller man rolled his eyes with a snort, flashing Stanley a buck-toothed grin. “Psh, ‘course not! Just a little housewarming gift, Staniel.”

Before Stanley could answer, Richie was making his way up the stairs, disappearing inside. Stanley let out a heavy sigh, picking up the last book filled with his old field journals and biology books. He made his way up the five cement steps, stopping and noticing the flag on his mailbox had been lifted up, probably by Richie.

Stan sighed, setting the heavy cardboard box down by his feet and opening the small black metal box. Inside was a Snicker's candy bar wrapper, the words "Stanny the Manny gives me more nut than snickers" written in a black sharpie scrawl. He let out a heavy sigh, stuffing the wrapper in the front pocket of his jeans.

His fingers rested on the top of the mailbox, about to close it when a small white envelope caught his attention. Stanley's brow knitted, knowing that he hadn't yet forwarded his address to any of his friends just yet. It was probably just a welcome letter from his landlord. He picked up the small letter, the address written in a gentle connecting black ink written _'To Whom It May Concern'_

Stan couldn't help but frown, blinking at the envelope in between his forefinger and thumb before turning it over. The envelope wasn't sealed with the normal adhesive. In its place was a small sticker of a honey bee. The image made a small smile crawl onto Stan's face, placing the envelope on top of the cardboard box taking both items inside.

###  **< >**

"I think that's the last one!" Beverly sighed, breaking down the last cardboard box and tossing into the pile next to Stanley's trash can.

Richie raised his wine glass. "To Stan's bachelor pad!" He cheered, slumping back into the chair by the dining table before gulping the liquid down.

"Oh please," Stan rolled his eyes, sipping his red wine and resting on the wooden kitchen counter. "The only thing you managed to do was go through _all_ of my underwear,"

"Had to make sure you had all your knickers in there, Stanny." Richie retorted into his empty glass.

" _And_ pop all of the bubble wraps." Stan finished, gesturing to the long roll of bubble wrap still in Richie's lap.

"It's called recycling, Stanley. Thought a bird brain like you would know it when you saw it." Richie snorted, extending his arm out to Beverly. "More please?" He asked with a meek smile, to which Beverly rolled her eyes while she poured her friend a second glass.

"Well, at least it's finally over. And now comes the fun part." Bev said a grin, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a swig.

Stan arched his brow, deciding to ignore the fact that'd he would be in charge of transportation back home for his two chaotic friends. "Which is..?"

"Meeting your neighbors, of course!" The redhead said with delight, sitting down on a barstool opposite of Stan. He groaned.

"Awh c'mon Stanny!" Richie jeered, popping bubble wrap in his left hand while he drank with his right. "Never know which neighborly friendship could turn into a late night booty call. It's like Mister Rogers after dark." He winked, raising his glass towards Stan.

Stanley rolled his eyes. "It's _nothing_ like that you headass." He silently extended his hand to Beverly, who handed him the wine bottle. "Did... did you finish this already?"

Bev shrugged with her head in her hand, a lucid smile on her face. "It's been a long day, Stanny, let me live." She giggled while Stanley went to his liquor cabinet, pulling out a second bottle.

"I knew I should have stocked up with you two around." Stan chided with an eye roll, popping the cork on the second bottle and filling his glass up.

"You should meet your neighbors though," Bev continued, reaching for the second bottle and taking a swig. "never know when you're gonna need a bit of help."

"Are you kidding?" Richie chuckled from his spot by the dining table. "Stan's always needed help with getting laid." He snickered, blowing a kiss to the scowl he was given.

"Don't think so." Stan huffed, looking at the unopened envelope placed next to a vase of daisies Bev had given to him as a housewarming present. He picked up the small note, flipping it between his index finger and thumb while he spoke. "Besides this is the only thing I've gotten--"

Before he could finish, Beverly's poorly manicured hand was swiping the letter from Stanley's grip with a triumphant cheer and a grin on her lips.

"What is it?" Richie rose up from his seat at the sound of Beverly's cheer, walking over to stand by the woman's side. Their shoulders pressed together while they both read the inscription on the card.

" _'To Whom It May Concern'_ ," she read aloud with a cheeky smile while Richie went 'Ooooh'. Stan attempted to reach for the letter in Beverly's hand, but the woman only handed it to Richie, who hid it behind his back.

"Give it back!" Stan whined, moving over to the other side of the counter, only to have Richie back up into the hallway.

"Nope! Finder's keepers!" Richie teased, breaking into a dash as Stan pursued him.

"Richie I swear to god!" Stan hollered, his limbs feeling heavy as the alcohol started to make his mind swim. Richie's distant cackle was the only reply he got, followed by the closing of the powder room door.

Stan reached the door, jiggling the handle only to find that it had been locked. "Richie!" He knocked on the door. Beverly came to his side with a giggle, handing Stanley his glass of wine while she began to drink from the bottle.

"I'm takin' a piss what do you want?" Richie groaned. Stanley rolled his eyes, knowing it was a lie, but they widened as he heard the echo of a stream from the other side.

"Are you _serious_ Richie?!" Stan pretended to gag while Beverly erupted into a fit of giggles, sitting on the floor next to the door. A heavy, annoyed sigh fell from Stan's lips, eyes shutting as the toilet flushed and the sound of the sink running replaced it.

"Can I just have the note back... please?" Stan asked with defeat.

"No can do! 'Cause then you won't share shit with us." Richie called from the other side, drying his hands.

"Richie..."

"To Whomst It May Concern," Richie bellowed, his voice echoing in the small bathroom. Stanley groaned, deciding to take his place on the floor next to Bev. He sipped his wine as the Trashmouth continued.

"I saw your tight ass from my bedroom window, cutie. Wanna smash and dash like a car crash?" Richie paused while Stanley put his head in his hands. Beverly giggled, topping off Stanley's glass while he spoke.

"Give me the note, Trashmouth, I think I can read." He muttered.

The door opened and Richie stepped out, sitting down on the floor opposite of Beverly and Stan. His long denim-clad legs extended to the other side, snugly fitting in the gap between Stanley and Bev. He tossed the note Stan's way.

Stan caught the small piece of paper, noticing that the neatly manicured envelope was still unopened. A small reflexive smile was on Stan's face in silent thanks. He opened the letter, taking out the note written in a neat swirling font.

_'To Whom It May Concern,'_

Stan read silently, fingers tracing over the edges of the tart cardstock. Bev's head rested on Stan's her soft red curls tickling his neck.

_'Sorry I wasn't able to speak to you-'_

"C'mon stop takin' forever I wanna hear it!" Richie grinned, extending his open hand to Bev and receiving the bottle of wine. Stan shook his head slipping the card back into the envelope. Richie and Bev both audibly whined, their lips set up into a pout.

"Pleeeeeaaaassseee?"

Stan rolled his eyes, silently wondering how he was ever able to be roommates with two children. "Fine." He opened the letter back up, clearing his throat as he began to read.

"' _Sorry I wasn't able to speak to you in person, I have a pretty busy schedule so being neighborly isn't a top priority for me. However, new neighbors always deserve a warm welcome. The people before you weren't too friendly but I thought I would be since this city's stock on kindness is at an all-time low. Don't worry, I'm no creep; I'm just a man with a cat. I live right next to you so you may hear me quite often'--"_

At this, both Richie and Beverly started to go 'Oooooh' with excitement, cheeky grins plastered on their reddening cheeks. Stan's hazel eyes rolled.

_"'I hope you find your new apartment to your liking. I'm sorry I won't be around quite often so I doubt we'll ever meet but I just wanted to say hello. Enjoy NYC! If you'd ever like to chat, just let me know. Welcome home.'"_

"That's the most formal booty call I've ever heard." Richie snickered, earning a shove to his left leg from Stan.

"He's just saying 'hi'." Stan retorted, pushing the note back into the envelope and setting it on Richie's foot.

"Yeah right!" Bev snorted, rolling her eyes and taking a large gulp from the bottle of wine. Stan quickly snatched it away, figuring that she already had plenty. She let out a noise of protest before continuing, picking up the small letter.

"I think it's cute Stanny," Beverly teased, eyeing her friend. "Write him back." She hummed before tossing the letter to Richie, the thing hitting him square in the nose.

Richie frowned, rubbing his nose. "I mean or you could just knock on the fuckin' wall and see what happens." He snickered at the groan and eye roll he got in response.

Stan sipped his third glass, letting out a heavy sigh. "I'll let you guys know." He hummed, his head of blonde curls pressing to the wall. He checked his watch, groaning at the long hand short hand pointing closer towards the '1' than the '12'.

"Let me call Eddie to take you guys home." Both of his friends whined in response, refusing to leave the wooden floor as Stanley got to his feet.

"C'mon Stanley Manley." Richie groaned, reluctantly getting up on wobbly long legs. "I can break in your couch." He winked, though the only 'breaking in' would be sleeping until noon on his brand new furniture.

Stan shook his head, taking the two wine glasses and the half-empty bottle back into the kitchen to be washed. "We all have class tomorrow. Eddie'll take an Uber here and drive you guys back in the van.” He reassured, knowing that Richie adored his 'Trashmoblie 2.0'

Beverly yawned through her words of protest, arms reaching to the ceiling. Stan chuckled at the sight and pulled his phone out, quickly texting Eddie to give the two tipsy guests a ride home.

"Thanks, Stanny." Richie smiled happily, placing a messy drunken kiss on Stan's cheek, making the receiver grimace.

The doorbell was ringing fifteen minutes later, and Stan quickly rushed to the door to see Eddie standing outside.

"Hey," Eddie smiled, sleep riddled in his voice as he stepped through the door. From the kitchen, the two men heard Richie gasp 'Is that my Eds?' before his quick footsteps got closer and closer.

"Eddie!" The six-foot-four drunken man cheered, his long arms wrapping around the other's small frame tightly. Eddie's breath was audibly squeezed out of him as he wheezed out a 'hey Rich'.

As Richie showered his boyfriend with kisses, Stan pushed passed them with an eye roll. "Richie cut it out you'll be home soon." He grumbled, sitting on the barstool next to Bev.

"Shut up Stan," Richie sneered as he finally released Eddie from his clutches. "You're jus' mad 'cause you're not gettin' any." He stuck his tongue out at his friend, scrunching his face up.

Eddie apologized for his drunk boyfriend, handing Stan a little gift bag. "It's just something for the house." He said with a smile, his left arm lazily wrapped around Richie's middle.

"Thanks, Eddie.” Stan smiled, looking into the bag to find a few small candles. “Now can you please give me a second gift and take these two idiots home before they empty my liquor cabinet?" Stan chuckled, feeling Beverly's hand muse his blonde curls as she got up.

"Gladly." Eddie snorted, Richie's lips already starting the second attack at his neck.

"Awh you love us, Stanny." Beverly giggled, giving her friend a quick goodbye kiss to his cheek before following the two lovers out the door.

The front door finally shut, leaving Stan alone in his new home. The opened envelope sat to his left, the mystery handwriting jumping out at him with interest, enticing him to answer. Stanley sighed heavily, snatching the note up and walking to his bedroom with heavy, drunken limbs.

He checked his watch again, the shorter hand now on '1' and the long hand pointing down towards six. Against his better judgment, and his subconscious trying to remind him about his 9 AM in just seven and a half hours, Stanley turned on his music, deciding on a quiet playlist of piano and trumpet.

He practically sank into his pillows, his head hitting the wall harder than he had intended to before he lifted up, cursing at his own stupidity.

_"...Are you okay over there?"_

Stanley jumped back from the wall, his hazel eyes wide with horror at the soft disembodied voice he heard. This was it. He had lost his mind. It had taken a good while but after enough wine, it seemed that his own rattling mind had gotten the best of him.

"...who's there?"

A soft, tired chuckle came in response.

“ _Don't worry I'm not a ghost.”_ The sound, though startling, was warm and kind, and Stanley could practically hear the smile in it. He laughed with a bit of relief, inching closer back to his original spot. He looked curiously at the wall, unable to help the small smile that had appeared from the gentle lull of such a rich, calm voice.

 _“Sorry, I know this isn’t the most ideal way you’d want to meet your new neighbor.”_ The man laughed again, his voice louder, closer to the wall. Stanley inched closer.

“It’s okay.” Stanley laughed in return. He smiled, shifting to lay on his back against the pillows, the alcohol in his system seeming to pull him down into the mattress with the weight of sleep and intoxication. “Thanks for the letter.” He added quietly after getting situated, smiling at the hum he got in response.

 _“It’s no problem. I’m kind of a fiend for the art of snail mail.”_ The voice chuckled. _“So… how are you?”_ It asked experimentally, a tinge of hope in the sound.

“Wine drunk.” Stanley giggled, and the other voice laughed with him, their noises of delight mixing with the harmonious sounds of the piano quietly playing from Stanley’s speaker on his bedside table. Stan could feel his face become warm and his smile wide as he spoke. “Moving really wasn’t all that great but your letter made up for it. My friends read it, an’ now they think we should date or something.”

The prospect made Stanley laugh again, his eyes looking up at his spinning ceiling fan with a small smile. He couldn’t place why he was diving so much into his life with the disembodied voice through the wall, but the sound of his neighbor’s rich, warm voice felt like a blanket fresh out of the dryer and clean pajamas on freshly washed skin.

 

 _“I could hear you guys.”_ A laugh. _“They sound like a lot of fun.”_

The comment made Stanley’s lips break into another smile as he replied. “Yeah, they are.”

Silence lapsed between them, the sound of Bill Evan’s melodies quietly playing in the background while the candle on Stanley’s bedside table created dancing shadows on the ceiling.

 

“...why are you up so late?” Stan finally asked, wondering if The Wall had fallen victim to sleep.

A soft, yawning voice came in reply. _“My internship likes to keep me later than I’d like sometimes but hey, it helps pay rent.”_ Stan could hear a shift in sheets, the sound of an old wooden bed frame creaking.

Stanley yawned with The Wall before both of them broke into a knowing, sleepy laugh.

 _“Well,”_ the wall yawned, more subtle creaking from a bed frame. _“I won’t keep you. Sleep well.”_ The voice hummed, slowly drifting off. Stan smiled, head turning slightly to look at the dried white paint behind his pillows.

“Nice meeting you.” He smiled, hearing the soft hum in agreement from the other side.

_“You too. Good night.”_

“G’night.”

Stan moved in his bed, looking at his neatly organized desk and seeing the small letter perched next to his assortment of pens. He checked his phone, the bright blue light making him squint momentarily before he made out the ‘1:43’ on his lock screen. His eyes shifted back to the note.

He knew the regret would settle in eventually but instead, Stan pulled himself out of bed, dragging his feet over to his desk and dropping into his computer chair. He quickly picked up a black pen and pulled out a blank note from his pile of cardstock.

Stan looked at the blank paper, blinking rapidly to try and make himself as sober as possible before starting to write in lazy drunken strokes. 

_“To Whom It May Concern,”_

###  **< >**

Four fuzzy paws pressed into Mike’s bare chest, a content purring coming from above him. His eyes blinked open, a face of orange fur and bright green eyes staring him down with a silent plea for breakfast. Mike’s smile went wide.

“Morning, Marigold.” He chuckled, lifting the feline into his arms and placing her to his left as he got out of bed. His clock read 6:45, a usual time for him to be awoken by his furry alarm clock. Her persistent meowing kept him on a schedule, and because of Marigold, Mike was never late for his internship.

He poured himself a cup of coffee after feeding the cat, sipping the warm drink while he watched the sun’s rays start to illuminate his kitchen. Faint memories of the previous night started to come back to him.

Ah yes, the voice in the wall. What a lovely voice it was, too. His previous neighbors weren’t the kindest of folks, so when he realized they had finally shipped out, Mike was a little over eager to meet their replacement. And from his conversation last night, it seemed that his excitement was in the right place.

A small smile started to curl on his lips at the prospect, though it was a shame that his internship and classes would keep them from ever meeting. Nevertheless, any friendship was a good one, and Mike wasn’t about to waste this one.

He buttoned up his pink shirt, one of the few articles of clothing that wasn’t decorated with Marigold’s fur. The museum didn’t require him to be in until 9, but the traffic in New York was never something Mike wanted to endure for long. He quickly gathered his things before heading out the front door, making sure to bid his furry friend adieu before leaving.

The door shut behind Mike with a heavy thud, and he was just about to walk down the steps when he noticed the flag on his mailbox was raised. His brow knitted at the peculiar sight, knowing that mail wasn’t expected until that afternoon. He put his phone into his pocket, opening the small black box to find a small envelope inside, labeled with a shaking, fast black stroke.

_“To Whom It May Concern”_

Mike chuckled quietly to himself at the sight, opening his messenger bag and placing the note inside. He walked down the steps, his eyes on the messy black ink and his ears filled with the sounds of a slowly awakening city.

_“Sorry if this looks bad the wine isn’t doing my hands any favors. I really liked talking to you last night. You’re really nice and the note was a nice gesture. Your voice is also really nice. Kinda like a lullaby.  Hopefully, we talk in the future you’re really nice. Sorry again about the wine.”_

The wildly smudged and messy ink made Mike smile as he rode the subway, his index finger running over the edge of the paper as his eyes wandered over the smudged, sloppy ink. It was unprofessional; it was messy; it was human. However, even with all the imperfections, Mike noted the meticulous nature of each word, how every letter straight like soldiers in a line. Mike always liked that, how handwriting always spoke volumes about an individual.

The subway stopped at 81st Street, and Mike quickly tucked the note into his pocket before exiting, the small smile seeming to be a permanent feature on him as he made his way up to the Museum of Natural History.

###  **< >**

Stanley’s fingers were gripping his phone, eyes glued to the Google Map that was outlining his destination. His phone also contained an email sent by his professor two days prior detailing his research for his thesis. The project was more thorough than he originally intended, but the information he would gain from his research would be quote ‘beneficial to see this project come into full fruition’.

He walked up the marble steps, his backpack slung over his shoulders and his dark scarf hiding the majority of his face from the less than friendly winds that blew from the East. Around him, parents were guiding excited children up the steps of the museum, a long line forming down from the double doors that led into the museum.

Stan quickly passed them with ease, flashing his membership card to the attendant at the door before trailing inside to be met face to face with two prehistoric skeletons engaging in what looked to be a battle. The sight made Stan smile, a wave of childlike joy washing over him momentarily before he remembered what he had come here for.

Without a second thought, Stanley passed through the crowds and lines with ease, muttering ‘excuse me’s as he went through, tugging his scarf off his chin and letting it hang haphazardly around his long neck. He beelined for the elevator, into the crammed contraption with an exasperated huff. He did enjoy museums, but the numerous patrons, he did not.

On his way up to the fourth-floor research library, Stanley was looking through his notes on his phone and the email chain between his professor detailing what archive sections he should look through. The work was tedious, but the process and the systems that it entailed were almost calming to the graduate student.

He pushed through the large wooden doors, the creaking of the heaving thing cutting through the hush on the floor. Bookcases lined the walls, all labeled according to their field and in the center, a circular desk where files and papers were stacked high.

Stanley took a look around, a small smile forming on his face as his eyes wandered over historical archives and cases of small artifacts and fossils. He approached the desk as he did so, looking around the long, never-ending halls in hopes of finding someone but his search was futile. A defeated sigh left his lips, fingers drumming on the table while his eyes traveled up the long staircase to the second floor within the research facility, long windows letting the sunlight pour through and touch every exposed surface.

“...Hello?” Stanley called out experimentally, looking around in hopes of finding the source of the deafening silence. His fingers drummed on the wood of the desk, lips twisting into a look of disappointment. He called out again a little louder, singing the vowels of the word as he looked around. “Hello?”

 

Rapid footsteps were heard among the shelves. “Hello?” A voice called back, one that made Stanley blink with sudden confusion, for it sounded oddly familiar.

From the mountains of mahogany, hardcover, and paper appeared a young man, about Stanley’s age. The pink pinstripe shirt he sported beautifully contrasted against his dark skin, and Stan couldn’t help but silently admire the librarian’s sense of style in black denim and brown dress shoes. A laugh bubbled from the librarian’s lips as he spoke.

“I’m so sorry, we don’t normally get a lot of people that come up here.” His smile made Stanley’s shoulders relax and a warm feeling wash over his skin as the man spoke. Stanley laughed out a reassurance, trying to compose himself in front of such a gorgeous man. Those dark eyes seemed to become a labyrinth to Stanley as they locked with his own hazel eyes. He could hear a soft, calm murmur directed towards him, he was finding his focus being lost in those twin pools of black oil.

“Is everything okay?” Stanley finally heard, making him blink rapidly back into coherent thought.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” He laughed at his own stupidity, but the librarian only gave him a reassuring smile, one so lovely Stanley felt it becoming infectious.

“It’s okay. Is there anything I can help you with?” His voice had the warmth of the sun, Stan thought.

“I was actually here looking for research…” Stanley started, his hands darting into his pocket to fetch his phone to read out the notes he had prepared before arriving. “My professor said that’d I’d be able to find the records here…” He murmured, scrolling through his phone, trying to retrieve the files as quickly as he could.

But, the librarian was patient, his kind gaze never faltering as he watched Stanley. “Which records in particular? I could get them for you if you’d like.”

Stan looked up to see the slightly taller man still standing behind the desk. The genuine kindness that radiated off of him was so different from the usual passive-aggressive hostility residents of New York usually held. Stanley’s thoughts started to get lost in the warmth of the librarian, his smile growing a bit as he looked at the familiar stranger.

“I’m doing research on the population growth of Red-Tailed Hawks in relation to industrialization in New York. It’s not super intuitive, but I want to see if there’s a possible correlation between the fluctuation of the species and technological advancements.” Stan explained, finally looking up from the notes on his iPhone to find the librarian already typing quickly on the computer behind the desk.

“Really? I think it sounds really interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone ask about Red-Tailed Hawks.” He mused, flashing Stanley a warm smile when he looked up from his computer. Stan returned the expression out of pure reflex.

“But, you are in luck… we have records of their migration patterns from the 1900s, surprisingly.” He laughed, taking out a post-it note and writing down the location of the different archived records in a quick scrawl. “I could help you find it if you’d like.” The man looked up at Stanley, the yellow slip of paper stuck between his finger and thumb.

“Oh, are you sure? I wouldn’t want to put you out of your way…” Stan fake-protested, though he did want this nameless man to assist him.

“It’s no problem. This place is usually deserted; it’s nice to see a new face.” The man offered with a gentle voice, stepping from behind the desk and gesturing for Stanley to follow. He trailed behind the pink pinstripes, a small smile on his face as he listened to the man murmur the numbers to himself, too faint to be heard.

Stan eventually found himself on the upper level, the large windows in the library letting the sunlight directly into the building. The sun rays danced on the stranger's skin, and Stanley swore that a gentle halo radiated off of him from the sunlight. He checked the paper in his hand before striding down the aisle, seeming to have forgotten about Stanley's presence; like the task that he was handed was far too important for anything else.

"Aha!" A triumphant cheer came from among the books, and Stanley couldn't help but laugh, following the sound to find the handsome librarian crouched between the bookshelves. In his hands was a heavy book filled with worn pages, the spine's writing too faded to be readable. He stood up, beaming as he handed the large thing to Stanley. "That should be it. Most of the more recent data is digital, so just holler for me if you need that information as well." He smiled, and Stanley could only nod in return amidst the hypnotizing happiness.

“I… uh, thank you.” Stanley looked at the book as the other man continued to speak.

“I was also a history major so if you need help on the historical aspect I’d be glad to help.”

Stanley looked back up to see the librarian rubbing the back of his neck aimlessly with a shy look on his face.

“I’d really like that. Thank you.” He offered the nameless man a smile, and one was given to him in return.

 

“I’m Stanley,” He quickly added, taking the heavy book into his left hand as he quickly extended his right.  “By the way.”

“Mike.” The librarian smiled, taking Stanley’s hand into his own. “Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything, Stanley,” He really did enjoy the way his name fell off of Mike’s tongue with gentle ease. “It does get kind of boring looking through archives all day.” Mike joked, though he genuinely enjoyed having another person among the shelves besides himself.

Once he released Mike’s hand, Stanley’s fingers drummed on the hardcover of the book in thought. “Well, there are a few things I could use your help with.”

Mike beamed. “Great.”

 

###  **< >**

 

Richie’s feet were kicked up onto the kitchen counter while he popped goldfish crackers into his mouth, skillfully balancing on the barstool that wobbled on two legs. To his left was Beverly, who was happily sipping some cheap rosé she had picked up on the way over.

“You’re gonna fall.” She mumbled into her wine glass, watching Richie once again become unsteady before he quickly gripped the counter, looking at Bev with a triumphant grin.

 

“Richie,” Eddie warned from the opposite side of the counter where he, Bill and Ben were making dinner. “You’re going to fall if you keep doing that. Without question.”

“Relax, Grandpa!” Richie laughed, getting back into his previous position and popping more of the salty crackers into his mouth. He winked back at the glare he had received from Eddie.

Bill looked away from his spot by the cutting board, rolling his eyes. “Who l-let you eat th-these?” He quickly snatched the box of crackers away from his two friends. They both whined in protest.

Richie took his feet off the counter, letting the barstool land back on all four legs with a loud clamor. “Oi, no fair mista! I was-unt done with those!” He cried in a poorly executed accent.

Eddie rolled his eyes, completely turning away from Richie at the sound of one of his infamous voices.

“Richie if you’re going to be in my house, at least leave the voices at the door.” Stan huffed from the open doorway, making everyone’s eyes turn up to the hallway. He walked into the kitchen, eyes widening at the surprise of all his friends congregated in the kitchen and dining room.

Bev raised herself up from her slumped position in the barstool. “Hey! You’re not supposed to be home yet!”

“I should ask you all a similar question.” Stan leaned against the wall with a huff, though he smiled at the sweet surprise his friends had prepared for him. “How did you guys get in?” He furrowed his brow, looking at all five of them.

Richie reached into his pocket, pulling out a shiny gold key on his keyrings. “You gave me a spare, remember?” He asked, twirling the thing around to create a jingling noise.

Stan’s eyes rolled at the answer. “You mean you stole it from my hand when I tried to give it to Bill?” He arched his brow, to which Richie grinned.

“Yep! So whaddya’ think, sonny? Ya’ likin’ the spread we got?” Richie gestured to the food that Bill, Ben, and Eddie made, the smells of delicious food filling the house.

Stan rose up from his spot against the wall, setting his backpack on the floor as he looked at the food spread out on the kitchen counter. “The only thing I had for dinner in my fridge was a lean cuisine.” He laughed, looking at all of them with a smile. “Thanks, guys. This is great, really.”

Bill proceeded to make a toast to Stan’s new house.  Richie attempted to follow, who only toasted to the fact that he could get ‘Spaghetti to come quicker than Uber Eats’ to which he was promptly hit in the abdomen by his boyfriend sitting on his left.

Beverly took the liberty of setting the table while Stan topped off his own glass of wine, helping his friend find the utensils around the new kitchen. Food was quickly served, Eddie had made mashed potatoes and sauteed green beans while Bill grilled the chicken.

“And I made some chocolate chip brownies for dessert.” Ben smiled as he sat down in between Beverly and Bill. His words were met with a quick peck on the cheek from Beverly.

“You’re the best Benny.” She smiled at her blushing boyfriend.

 

They gathered around the kitchen table as best as they could, the chatter and scent of delicious food filling the small space while they all quickly caught up about their classes and jobs. Stan listened to all of them, deciding to keep his own personal endeavors quiet while the rest of them talked. Though he tried to engage and focus on the conversation, he was still thinking about that handsome librarian from earlier, dragging his thoughts away from reality.

“So, Stanny Manny,” Richie asked from across the table through mouthfuls of food. He pushed the morsel into his cheek to speak. It wasn’t until there was a fork-pierced piece of chicken being waved in his face did Stanley begin to listen. “What’s the 411 on your fancy letter booty call?”

Stan rolled his eyes, while Bev’s muffled giggled came from his left.

Right. His neighbor.

“I’m sorry— the what?” Ben’s eyebrows knitted, a laugh bubbling in his voice though Stanley didn’t find the notion all too amusing.

“St-stan’s neighbor suh-sent him a letter asking t-to fuck.” Bill said with a smirk, eyeing the other man from across the table.

Ben’s brow quirked up, beginning to laugh along with the rest of the table while Stanley tried to explain over the loud noises.

“No no no! It’s nothing like that. He just sent me a note welcoming me to the neighborhood.” Stan sighed, sipping his glass of wine.

“ _Really_ ?” Eddie gave Stanley a knowing look, eyes widening. “All _my_ neighbors gave me was trash in my garbage cans and their dog’s shit outside my door.” He joked. Stanley shook his head.

“I mean we talked but I didn't even get his name—”

“Wait you talked to him and didn’t _tell_ me?!” Beverly looked at Stan in horror, slamming her glass down on the wooden table.

Stan quickly inspected the glass for any cracks, muttering how she needed to ‘be careful’ while she still fumed. “Stan, c’mon don’t ignore us.” She whined, shaking Stanley’s arm while he set the glass back down. “What did you guys talk about?”

“What does he look like?” Eddie jeered with a grin.

“Whu-what does he duh-do?” Bill smirked.

“Did y’all fuck?” Richie asked through a mouthful of green beans from his slouched position.

Stan groaned, eyes rolling back into his head like a dead man before he put his head in his hands. “I swear to god I’m going to permanently ban every single one of you from this house.” He grumbled into his palms, listening to his friends' cheeky snickers from above him.

“Awh c’mon Stan,” He felt Beverly’s fingers run through his soft golden curls reassuringly. “We wanna know.”

“Yeah what position? You go all classy or straight nasty, Stanny?” Richie butted in one last joke before he was swatted upside the head by Eddie.

Stan sighed, propping his elbows on the table and taking a sip of wine. “We didn’t even see each other we just talked through the wall.” He muttered into his wine glass, everyone’s posture rising to listen to Stanley’s purposely quiet voice.

Beverly cooed with delight, leaning in closer while Stanley talked about their quick conversation. Richie started to giggle madly, past the point of speech while the others ignored him.

“That sounds really romantic, Stan.” Ben mused with a small smile, Bev nodding in agreement.

“Straight out of a book is what it is! Why haven’t you invited him over?” She asked, holding her head in her hands.

“We just have different schedules. He has classes like me and this internship that likes to keep him prisoner.” Stan chuckled dryly in response.

“That’s a load of _baloney._ ” Richie pointed accusingly across the table, only for Stan to swat his hand away. “You just don’t know how to handle wall sex.”  

Stan rolled his eyes, deciding to ignore Richie’s jeering. “He sounds nice, I mean…” He hummed, fingertips tracing the edge of his wine glass while Bev grinned from ear to ear.

“Wow. Stan tuh-talking about his feelings? Guys, I think it’s guh-gonna snow.” Bill chuckled, Eddie elbowing him into silence with a hush.

“But you didn’t even get his name?” Eddie asked, brows raised with surprise. Stan nodded.

“Yeah. We were both pretty tired—”

“ ‘Cause of the wall sex, obviously.” Richie chuckled, winking at a glaring Stanley.

“But that’s it?” Bev asked, a tinge of disappointment in her voice as he lips curled into a sympathetic pout. Stan nodded.

“It was last week, right after you guys left.” He poured himself half a glass of wine, refraining from making eye contact with his friends as he slowly delved into his feelings for this nameless, faceless crush. “I sent him a letter back, but I doubt he’d want to write back.” Stan sighed.

His eyes were staring into the bottom of his wine glass, fingers running up and down the stem of the glass. When he glanced up, he had five pairs of eyes gazing at him with perplexed faces, and the sight made Stanley wear a matching expression.

"What?"

"Did it ever occur to you to knock on his door?" Ben offered, unable to hide the quiet laugh in his voice.

"Or the wall?" Richie snickered again, the remark followed by a 'beep beep' from Bill.

Stan's eyes rolled at the question. "Of course I have... I tried knocking on the wall but it was silent." He muttered, a choir of chuckles surrounding him quickly in response to his answer. He shrugged, pushing himself from the table and taking some plates with him.

"Oh well. Guess that's over." Stan sighed with mild defeat, his heart sinking into his chest more than he actually thought possible. The feeling was subtle, but it was like a small string tied around his heart had begun to pull down, down, down, his body starting to drag with the emotional weight that pulled inside of his chest.

As Stan washed the dishes and cleaned up bit by bit around the kitchen, the other five began to do the same, all glancing at their host and back at each other with concerned gazes.

"Stan," Beverly asked softly, approaching her friend by the sink with a few dirty plates in her hands. The head of curls immediately rose up at the sound of her voice, hazel eyes looking into her own. He was always a perfectionist at keeping a poker face, but there was something that faltered in his as he looked at the concern on Beverly's freckled face.

"Don't worry too much about your neighbor. Like you said, he's busy... and so are you." She smiled, and Stan nodded, returning the same weak expression of joy. "He'll be back eventually."

She rubbed in between Stan's shoulder blades, giving his left shoulder a gentle squeeze before he retreated to the living room where Richie had proposed a game of drunk charades.

Stanley finished up the rest of the dishes, joining his friends in the living room with a bottle of some mixed fruity drink Richie had requested and a few shot glasses after his guests had repeatedly attempted to summon him with every nickname imaginable.

###  **< >**

 

“An’ you better give me every detail, Staniel!” Richie called, his lanky frame propped up over Eddie’s shoulders like a scarecrow without a post. Stan chuckled at the sight from his spot next to his front door, watching his five friends all pile into their respective vehicles while they all wished their host farewell with waving hands and loud drunken voices.

“Bye Stanny!” Bev sang from out the window as Ben drove her and Bill down the road, Richie and Eddie not too far behind. Stan waved back with a smile, always loving a good visit from his closest friends. As he watched the headlights of their cars grow smaller and smaller, he began to make his way back inside when the little red flag on his mailbox caught his attention. With a grin, Stanley quickly snatched the neat, honey bee adorned envelope and made his way to his bedroom.

_‘To Whom It May Concern,_

_I’m glad to know that you enjoy my company, as brief as it was because I enjoy yours too. I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself either. How rude of me. I’m Mike. Maybe when you find this note you’ll be able to do the same. It’d be rather odd if we went this whole time without knowing each other’s names. But, if you’d like to keep this conversation going, lovely stranger, just knock on the wall.’’_

 

Stanley could feel a little skip in his heartbeat at the adjective attached to ‘stranger’. He was a lovely stranger, and Stanley could admit that the same went for his neighbor—Mike. The name started to make something in his mind start to jump and yell, but he chose to ignore it, instead getting lost in the gentle curving letters on the parchment in his hands.

He decided to take a quick shower, after all, the heat in New York had barely given him a break. His blonde tendrils were practically a cotton ball of their former glossy self. Though his showers were usually a methodical, relaxing part of his night, upon realizing he’d be able to talk to that lovely voice again, his priorities had begun to shift.

Once Stanley was in a comfortable pair of pajama bottoms and his fan turned up more than usual, he plopped down into his comfortable sheets with a happy, relaxed sigh, eyes closing for a moment as he listened to the quiet jazz he had decided to play on his speakers.

 

A small smile was plastered on his face, his skin warm and soft from his shower and his room filled with the warmth that still begged to be let in from his less than adequate windows. And Mike, the lovely voice from the other side of the wall. At the thought of him, Stan raised himself among his pillows and comforter, picking up the second note that rested on his bedside table and looking at it. His smile grew wider at the sight, recalling what the note had instructed, and so, with an eager hand, did as it implied.

He knocked gently, just twice, and on the opposite side, he heard what he believed to be… scratching? Stanley’s brow knitted, pressing his ear to the wall to check if he had heard correctly. Through the thin plaster, he could make out a soft, soft purring, barely audible, followed by even softer footsteps.

He knocked again. This time the footsteps grew louder, a calm murmur coming from the other side of the wall before a soft meow was heard. Stanley put two and two together, smiling warmly.

“Hello?” He asked. Stanley could hear a door close, and soon enough, he could make out the shifting of an old bed frame.

_“So, I’m assuming you got the note?”_

Stanley smiled. “Yeah. I thought for a minute you wouldn’t want to write back.”

_“What? And miss a conversation with the most lovely voice in New York? Of course not.”_ The casual tone and chuckle made Stanley’s body warm and soft all over, his smile growing wide in the privacy of his own room. Behind the walls, he realized that his boldness could go less undetected.

“Same to you, Mike, with your cordial notes.” Stanley laughed, his face feeling warm with child-like giddy.

 _“Well, you know my name. Does this lovely sound have a name?”_ Mike mused, and Stanley could hear the cheeky, flirtatious grin in his voice.

“Stanley.” He hummed, his head close to the wall as he spoke softly. A gentle, warm hum came in response.

 _“Stanley…”_ The way Mike said his name made Stan shiver, eyes closing as he listened closely to the other side of the wall. _“Stanley, Stanley, Stanley... A beautiful name for a beautiful voice.”_ Mike concluded.

The man smiled at the gentle lull in Mike’s soft voice, wanting to melt through the wall to be close to him. “I would say the same for you, but I’ve never been a fan of the name ‘Mike.’” He teased, adoring the bubble of laughter that came from the opposite wall. “Would you consider changing your name?” Stan teased.

The answer came without a second thought. _“If it meant another conversation with you, of course.”_

Stanley smiled at the answer. “For me? You haven’t even seen my face.” He fake protested with a cheeky grin.

 _“Well,”_ Mike mused. _“ A voice so heavenly must be owned by an angel,”_ As Mike spoke, Stan’s body had shifted to become pressed to the wall, hanging on every gentle, quiet word that he heard from behind the plaster.

 _“...soft hair and beautiful eyes. A smile so bright that it rivals the sun.”_ Stanley laughed at the proposition, shaking his head.  _“What?”_

“Nothing…” Stan sighed, a small smile still on his face.

 _“Come on, tell me,”_ Mike whined, Stanley giggling slightly.

“It’s just,” He sighed.

“No one ever says those things… and they’ve _seen_ me.” Stanley cracked his knuckles, the sound popping right through the soft sound of his music and quiet whirring of his fan. From the other side, he could hear coo softly in apology, and the frame of his bed creaked as he shifted.

Mike’s gentle, dark voice was suddenly close to Stanley’s ear, the sound making him melt into the wall and onto sheets. _“People probably think about how wonderful you look when you laugh. I bet your smile is wide then, huh?”_

Stan could hear the grin in Mike’s soft voice, and he hummed in response as his head pressed to the wall. He laughed softly. The sound made Mike hum in question.

“I’ll allow you to entertain the idea.” Stan chuckled.

_“I’d like to think you’re gorgeous, Stanley.”_

“You haven’t seen me.”

 _“Don’t have to. I know so.”_ Mike murmured, the soft sound suddenly starting a shiver to crawl up Stanley’s spine.

“Really?” The word played a curious tone on his chords, an implied invitation for Mike to continue. “...tell me more.”

Stan heard the bed frame creak again as Mike moved closer, and he could hear his body pressed against the other side of the wall.

 _“I’d like to bet money on the fact that you’re beautiful, Stanley…”_ Stan’s lips curled into a smile. _“From every strand on your head down to your feet…”_ Mike paused for a moment, and during that silence, Stanley began to worry if the voice on the other side had decided to leave but—

 _“Do you work out, Stanley?”_ The question made both of them laugh softly. Stan could feel his cheeks start to heat up slightly as he answered with a giggling ‘yes’, remembering how all those years on the baseball team had sculpted his lean, graceful figure.

 _“Well,”_ Mike continued, his tone shifting into something smoother, richer. His words were slow and silky, each syllable making Stanley smile. _“I bet you have a beautiful figure, sculpted to perfection like marble in an art gallery—”_

“...Would you stare?” Stan boldly asked, making Mike stop completely. When he didn’t get a response, Stan continued. “Like in an art gallery… would you stare?”

_“I’d like to say that I would,”_ Mike chuckled, the sound sending a rush through Stan. _“But, something that beautiful can’t just be admired with the eyes alone.”_

“You probably aren’t a frequent patron of museums then.” Stanley chuckled, trying to keep his curious mind from wandering too far from the line that separated his flirtatious questions from something more.

Mike only laughed again. _“You’d be surprised.”_

“What then, if not stare?” Stan asked again, going against his better judgment that told him his constant suggestive questions would drive the other man away. However, much to his delight, they only drew him closer.

_“If you’d let me… I’d kiss you—”_

“Where?” The word came out in a quick, eager breath, Stanley’s eyes closing as he listened to the other man continue with slow, tender words.

_“Well, your lips, obviously… then down to your neck, your shoulders,”_

As Mike spoke, Stanley’s right hand trailed over every area mentioned, fingertips trailing over the column of his neck, the dip of his collarbone and his shoulder, down to his pectorals, his fingers lingering on his nipples.

He started to get lost in his wandering thoughts, fingers pinching and teasing his nipple while Mike’s soothing voice became somewhat of an afterthought. His hand snaked down his stomach, to the tent that started to form in his sweatpants. Stan pressed his palm against the fabric, biting his lip as he stifled a groan of pleasure.

_“Stanley..?”_

“Yeah?” His voice was almost a gasp but he managed to stifle it, his right hand quickly darting away to rest on his abdomen instead. “S-sorry…”

Mike chuckled softly as if he already knew, and though Stan was aware of his solitude, his face still burned madly with embarrassment.

_“Do you want me to continue?”_

Stan licked his lips, his right hand moving back to its original spot on his groin. “Pl-please…” His voice had lost every ounce of dignity, instead becoming a soft whimper for more. The noise made the other side of the wall chuckle, and Stanley squeezed his hardening length in response, a quiet gasp leaving his lips.

_“Stanley, darling,”_ Mike purred tenderly.

“Y-yeah?” He practically mewled, his shoulders relaxing as he melted from the pet name.

_“What are you doing?”_

Stan swallowed thickly, his hand down the front of his pajamas. His hand moved lazily, up and down the length of his cock, his thumb teasing and rubbing the slit until he started to feel precum start to drip from the tip and down onto his fingers.

“I…” He started, afraid of what Mike’s reaction would be once he confessed. But, behind the walls, Stanley felt a bit more confident with his words. “I’m touching myself, Mike… I—I hope you don’t mind.”

From the other side, Stanley could hear Mike curse under his breath. His hand stilled for a moment, waiting for the other to respond.

 _“Not at all,”_ The sound began wrapping itself Stanley up in a warmth he had never felt. _“Let me hear you, Sweet Thing.”_

The affectionate name made a shiver crawl up Stanley’s spine. A moan left his parted lips as he rubbed his thumb over the wet slit of his cock.

 **_“_ ** _Just like that, Baby. So pretty.”_ Mike encouraged, his own voice starting to falter slightly. The praise made Stanley moan again, wordlessly calling out for Mike.

His hand picked up the pace again, this time, making soft whimpers of pleasure as he went. “What— oh Mike— what would you do with me?”

Mike groaned at the question. _“With something as beautiful as you? I’d take my time, stretching you open until you're nice and loose,”_

Stan whined in protest. “But I don’t wanna wait,” His hand sped up, his soft gasps starting to become louder moans. The noises made Mike chuckle.

 _“Well, I don’t wanna hurt you, my desperate Love.”_ Stan whimpered and shuddered with every tender word, all filled with affection and lust. His parted lips began curling into a slight smile.

“Ah-are you really that big?”

Mike gave him a soft affirmative moan.

Stanley’s head pressed against the wall as his hand moved quickly. His grin grew wider with pure audacity, deciding to test his limits. “H-how big are you, Mikey?” He tested the nickname out on his tongue, deciding it fit from the hum he got back.

_“Would you like to know?”_

“Y-yes,” Stanley gasped, back starting to arch off the bed as he felt a familiar warmth pool in his stomach. Instead of an answer, he only heard a chuckle. There was a pause from the other side of the wall, but Stanley kept moving his fist, his voice coming out in soft breaths.

“M-mikey,” He whined. “Tell me.”

_“Nine inches.”_

Stanley let out a guttural moan, squeezing the base of his cock as he moved his hand quicker. “R-really?”

Mike hummed in response. _“Are you close, Lovely?”_ The blonde whimpered out a ‘mhm’, knowing that if he spoke, his words would only become a desperate moan.

_“I want you to slow down for me, okay?”_

Stan squeezed his cock instead, moaning loudly in response to his order. “ ‘m so close, pl-please.”

 _“Please, Stanley?”_ Mike urged softly. _“I want you to open yourself up for me.”_

The blonde reluctantly whimpered an 'okay’, deciding to toss off his sheets entirely and strip himself bare. He quickly scrambled to retrieve his almost completely full bottle of lubricant, pouring a large amount of the cool liquid into his hand, legs spreading wide. He circled the tight ring of muscle with his middle finger, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he rested his head against the wall.

_“Are you spreading yourself open?”_ Mike asked from the other side, his own voice now breathy and heavy with arousal. Stanley made a wordless moan of affirmation, the sound alone making Mike groan with pleasure. _“That’s it; let me hear you.”_

Stan gasped in reply as his finger pressed into his warmth, slowly moving the digit in and out a few times before greedily adding a second one; he was never one to take too much time.  

“Ah, h-how many fingers would you use?” He gasped, moving his two fingers in and out of his hole at a slightly fast pace, spreading his legs wide to angle himself better. The question made Mike chuckle darkly, the noise of delight divulging into another deep moan.

 _“Four. I want you nice and open for me. Something as beautiful as you isn’t meant to be broken.”_ Mike spoke through his own groan of pleasure, a gasp following his words.

Stan whimpered at the thought, only ever having used three of his own fingers. “M-mike…” He groaned, eyelids fluttering as he curled his fingers upwards inside himself, a whine leaving his lips as he did so. He slowly slid a third finger inside of his tightening hole, lips parted as he tilted his head back. Mike’s name was on his lips like a mantra, whispered over and over again as he thrust his fingers in and out.

_“Fuck you sound so pretty. You’d take my cock so well, wouldn’t you, Sweet Thing?”_ Mike groaned. Stanley nodded, eyelids fluttering as he moaned ‘uh-huh’. _“How many fingers do you have in your tight hole, Baby?”_

Stanley gasped, his whole body shaking as that gentle voice whispered such filthy things from the other side of the wall. “Th-three.” He whimpered, his hole fluttering around the digits. Mike cooed softly in reply and as he spoke, Stan could feel the grin that was on his lips.

 _“Awh so tight, aren’t you?”_ He purred, making Stanley make another pitiful noise. _“You’re doing so well. Just one more, Stanny, okay?”_

“O-okay…” The blonde’s voice trembled with apprehension, spreading his legs wider as he arched his lower back. His fingers moved in his hole a few more times, eyes closing as he focused on the stretch. With every deep movement against his prostate, he groaned, brow starting to furrow. As he started to move his index finger to rest with the other three, he could hear Mike’s soft moans from the other side, the sounds encouraging him.

Slowly, he pressed his index finger past the tight ring of his hole, his voice suddenly up an octave as he let out breathy ‘ah ah ah’s. His eyes shut tight, getting used to the stretch of his rim. “‘s too much Mikey I c-can’t—” He hiccuped, his breath starting to become short.

The man on the other side gently hushed him. _“Shh, you’re doing so well, Stanny. You’re okay. Deep breaths, yeah?”_

Stan whimpered in agreement, his chest heaving up and down with every trembling breath that passed through his lips. He moaned as he moved his fingers further inside of himself, back arching as he did so.

 _“That’s it, Baby. Get yourself nice and loose for me.”_ Mike moaned. His words made Stanley slide his last finger in all the way, jaw dropping open and eyes fluttering as the last digit finally met the other three.

“Mmm wan’ your cock, Mikey…” Stanley babbled, starting to move his fingers in and out at a slow pace. The stretch made his thighs shake madly, eyelids fluttering as he began to pick up his face. With every curl and thrust of his fingers, a delighted moan of pleasure left his lips. “M-Mike!”

The dark hum of pleasure he got in response made Stanley shudder, jaw dropping as he felt himself get closer and closer again. He kept babbling Mike’s name, his voice soft and breathless with pleasure.

 _“Ah—are you close, Baby?”_ Mike moaned, and what a sound it was. The wrecked moan that came from those beautiful vocal cords made Stan whine.

“Uh-huh. M-mike I wan’ ah- I wan’ you to fill me up, Mikey!” Stanley cried, his free hand moving to stroke his aching cock. As the stroked himself in time with his thrusts, his eyes shut tight, his words becoming broken ‘uh uh uh’s as he squeezed the base of his cock.

Mike groaned. Stanley could hear his breath coming ragged and wrecked as he too got closer. _“Cum for me, Sweet Thing, wanna—fuck—wanna hear you.”_

Stanley cried out as he came, his head of blonde curls tossing back as he cried out the other man’s name over the sound of his music. He could hear Mike’s moan of pleasure with his own, the noises coming together in a beautiful symphony of ecstasy. “M-mike… Mike… Mike…” Stanley panted, his forehead pressed to the wall once he slipped his fingers out of himself. His eyes shut, mouth still open as he caught his breath.

 

His name was called in a sleepy, gentle voice, the sound made him smile warmly, shifting in his pillows to try and be closer and closer to the man on the other side. “Yeah?” Stanley called back, his right hand pressed to the light green painted wall.

 _“Fuck…”_ Mike sighed, his breath becoming a soft laugh which he shared with Stanley. _“That was amazing.”_ He chuckled.

 

The blonde hummed in agreement. “Yeah…” His fingertips drummed on the wall, a small lucid smile plastered on his face. “...I’m gonna go shower, okay?” He tapped the wall, receiving a knock in response.

Mike yawned. “Me too… is this goodnight?” He asked sleepily, his voice becoming a bit distant as Stan heard him leave his bed.

“Yeah…” Stanley said through a matching yawn, arms stretching to the sky as he got out of bed. Though his legs were still shaking slightly, he managed to make his way back to the bathroom.

_“G’night… Sweet Thing.”_ Mike chuckled from the opposite end, the pet name making Stanley’s insides warm with delight as he murmured ‘good night’.

###  **< >**

 

Two Mondays after the Fall equinox, New York started to sport the true colors of the season. As Mike got ready for another day at the museum, the rain started to play a soft drumming on his windows and roof. The sounds alone made him pull over a warm yellow sweater over his navy button down. His furry feline snaked between his legs, purring with delight as she watched her human roam about the kitchen. Mike eventually reached down to scratch Marigold behind her ears, a smile coming onto his lips as the animal leaned into his touch with a content expression. As he made his tea, pouring the hot water over a tea bag of Earl Grey, his mind kept wandering to Stanley.

“Stanley, Stanley, Stanley…” He tested the name in a whisper again, the word coming out with a slight chuckle, a grin on his face.

Every time the name popped into his head, his lips would curl into a grin, his cheeks heating up with mild arousal and bashfulness, though his thoughts were still just his own. He couldn’t help but find Stanley’s voice oddly familiar, and the encounter more personable than he originally thought. He wanted to curse the idea of time in every language imaginable, knowing that if he had just one moment of free time that wasn’t at some ungodly hour, he’d be on the other side of that wall in a heartbeat.

The rain started to get harder as he walked up the stone steps to the large doors of the museum. Attendance was dwindling because of the weather and the early time, so Mike made his way up to the fourth floor with ease, his ears filled with melodies that Stanley had been playing from his room the previous night. They were gentle, warm songs, all composed with care and a slow tempo that brought a kind of peace over Mike in the early hours of the morning while he moved about the empty library that few were aware of and fewer ever visited.

As the hours past and the sun started to peak through the clouds, Mike had begun helping the occasional patron; he had only counted three people arrive in the four hours he had already spent among the shelves.

In his own solitude, Mike decided to wander about the novella and research, picking out old, out of place books to put back in its proper place. As he worked, he came across a few ornithology books placed among the history section. The sight seemed peculiar, and his brow furrowed in confusion. Something in the recesses of his mind knew exactly why those books were put in that place but, that something was ignored as he went to put the three books back in their proper place.

He started his way up the stairs, about to go down the shelves of biology and birds when the sight of a vaguely familiar blue backpack caught his eye. The object was pulled over a navy sweater, a blonde head of curls with it. Mike’s eyes quickly darted from the familiar stranger to the books in his hands, quickly putting the two things together.

Without another thought, Mike quickly went after the backpack and blonde hair, tapping on a navy blue shoulder. “Excuse me—”

He came face to face with a pair of dazzling hazel eyes and a stoic expression. The sight made Mike smile warmly, and his heart began the flutter as he noticed the wrinkles forming next to those hazel eyes; his own expression of delight was returned.  Before he could make a flustered fool of himself, Mike held the three books out to the patron. “I found them in the history section.” He said with a chuckle. “...Stanley, right?”

The name fell off his lips, his mind short-circuiting for a moment as he quickly recalled the previous night.  Could it—?

“Yeah.” Stanley smiled, taking the books in Mike’s hands. “Thanks. Sorry I haven’t come back since last week. My classes have me all over the place.” He chuckled, and all Mike could do was smile and nod, feeling the rest of his mind rattling like his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“It’s uh,” Mike started, trying to find the words to speak though every word in his mental dictionary at that moment was just ‘Stanley’. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” Stanley’s eyes shifted to look at the gold-plated name tag pinned to the yellow sweater. “Mike.” He smiled, but the expression changed to one of mild concern. “Are you okay?”

Mike blinked, his mind still trying to swim its way back from drowning in his own wandering thoughts. “Y-yeah.” He managed a smile, laughing bashfully. “You just remind me of someone.” He could feel blood rush to his cheeks, his skin warm as Stanley laughed with him.

The blonde moved some out of place curls from in between his eyes as he spoke, fixing the books cradled in his left arm. “Well, I was actually wondering if you’d be able to help me…” As he spoke, his eyes darted away from Mike’s, his cheeks dusted a light pink. The sight made Mike’s heart flutter in his chest, smiling at the endearing man. “You’re a history major, right?” Stan finally asked, eyes meeting his own.

“Yeah, if you wanna go grab a seat I can pick up some books for you and meet you.” Mike smiled, and Stanley nodded in return with a soft ‘thanks’, walking down the hall. Mike couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, feeling as though he had to somehow conceal his infatuation for Stanley… another Stanley? 2nd Stanley? Stanley #2? The notion made Mike laugh to himself as he hurried back down to look through the historical records kept on the first floor, still trying to decipher between Neighbor Stanley and Museum Stanley.

Documents and opens books were spread out over two oak tables where Stanley had set up his things, sitting in front of all the data he had found while copying them into the documents on his laptop. The process was tedious, but the mundane, patterned process was oddly relaxing to the graduate student. He heard footsteps approaching, and his head darted up to see the librarian carrying five large books in his hands.

 

“Need help?” Stan asked from his spot in front of his laptop, stopping his rapid typing for a moment.

Mike shook his head, setting the books down onto one of the only areas on the tables that were not covered in paper. He let out a sigh, his hands on his hips. At the sound of a quiet curse, he looked over to see Stanley’s brow knitted in concentration.

 

“What are you looking at?” He asked with a tilt of his head, the sound making Stanley’s eyes dart up to meet his own with infatuated surprise.

“Oh! I uh, it’s nothing that interesting.” He shrugged it off, but Mike didn’t waiver.

“I doubt that,” He laughed, walked over to stand next to Stanley, leaning over to look at the data he had begun collecting.

As Mike leaned closer, Stan could feel a warmth radiate off him. He could feel his cheeks begin to change color again. He tried to ignore the familiar stranger’s relaxing presence, though he wanted desperately to lean against the broad chest that was just inches from his head.  

“What you’re doing is really interesting, Stanley,” The sound of his voice so close to his ear made a shiver crawl up Stan’s spine, one so familiar to the night before. With Mike so close, his voice so soft, Stanley had begun to find curious similarities between the gentle voice that rested behind his bedroom wall and the man that rested behind his chair. A part of him begged to further investigate the correlations, however, he decided to toss the notions into the back of his mind, focusing on the lovely librarian that spoke to him.

“Really?” He asked, his hazel eyes wider than usual as their gazes met. Those brown eyes softened with affection.

“ ‘course. Historians need people like you making the connections to make out jobs easier.” Mike teased. Stanley giggled with him, relishing that darling smile plastered on Mike’s gorgeous face.

“Thanks. It means a lot considering I’m close to disproving my own hypothesis.” Stan laughed, eyes looking back at the graphs that were contradictory to his original ideas. He frowned slightly, letting out an exhausted sigh of defeat. His head began to feel heavy, eyes looking around at the documents he had already pulled out and scoured over for any information but finding them to be foreign in nature in his own lense of frustration. As he went to close his laptop, a gentle hand rested on his shoulder, the feeling making Stanley’s shoulder tense for a moment before he realized.

“Hey,” Mike’s voice was reassuring, gentle. The sound made his body relax, as if on reflex, immediately turning all his attention to the oddly familiar sound. His gaze was met with a warm smile of understanding, and Stan returned the expression.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about the written data. Besides, I think with your thoroughness you’ll find a way.” Mike’s hand gentle squeezed Stan’s shoulder. Feeling a bit of courage bubble within himself, Stan rested his hand atop Mike’s, his smile growing wider.

“Thanks, Mike.” Stanley smiled warmly, their eyes locking for a moment before he took his hand away, feeling the obvious spark rush through him. The feeling made his eyes dart away with bashfulness, swallowing thickly. He tried to focus back on the data in front of him as Mike began to walk away, but he stopped for a moment, making Stan’s eyes dart back up from his laptop.

Mike shifted his weight on his heels, hands in his pockets as the thought carefully as to how to choose his words. “I,” He couldn’t just ask Museum Stanley if he also happened to be Neighbor Stanley… could he?

“If you want, we could do some data collecting of our own…” Mike suggested casually, though inside he began to panic at the thought of rejection.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Mike’s eyes went to the floor, looking at his shoes as he spoke. “I know Central Park isn’t really an ideal bird-watching place, but if you’d like we could see what we find there.” His brown eyes looked up, nervousness running through him.

He was met with a smile. “Really? You’d want to go bird watching?” Stanley’s hazel eyes were bright with delight, making Mike’s lips spread into a grin.“It’s not that interesting I promise.” He laughed, to which Mike shook his head.

“I doubt that.” He chuckled, staying there for a moment as he thought. “Would you be free… say, early Saturday morning?” Mike offered. The delighted grin he got in return said all he needed to know.

###  **< >**

 

Stanley’s legs dangled from the barstool he sat a top, head in his left hand while he looked at the note he had written in his right. Behind him at his kitchen table, he could hear his five friends talking madly about their weeks so far. Even though it happened to be a Thursday afternoon, that never stopped the five of them from kicking down Stan’s door and inviting themselves in. He never minded, though. He read over the note, over-analyzing each word even though there wasn’t a true need to do so.  

“Oh, Staniel my dashin’ Maniel!” Richie sang in a southern belle accent from the opposite side of the table, waving the five playing cards in his right hand like a fan. “Whatcha’ got thay-ah, sonny? A love letta’ from ya’ beloved?” He swooned into Eddie’s lap, who only frowned, reluctantly opening his arms for Richie’s head to rest on his thighs.

“Richie stop I know you’re only doing this to get a look at my hand.” Eddie grumbled, holding his own hand of cards close to his chest while Richie dramatically fanned himself.

Stan rolled his eyes and shook his head, though his reddening cheeks told the true nature of the piece of paper in his hands. The sight made Beverly grin.

“It _is!_ ” She pointed accusingly while Stanley gripped the letter in his hands, hazel eyes growing wide with fear.

“No it’s not.” He blurted. The obvious lie made Beverly launch to her feet, abandoning the card game to huddle close to Stan.

“Uh _huh_. C’mon Uris, you can’t hide it from us forever.” Bev grinned, opening her hand to accept the note that Stan reluctantly handed over with an eye roll.

The young woman cleared her throat while the rest of her friends urged her to read the note.

 _“‘Mike,’_ Ooh okay so we have a name this time,” She teased with a grin, eyeing her blushing friend to her left. _“‘It’s a shame I haven’t had the chance to meet you yet. When we talk, I feel like I’m talking to an old friend.’”_ A series of ‘oohs’ rang through the kitchen.

 _“_ Hey Billy, I think you’re being replaced.” Richie chuckled.

“Oh s-sure, Trashmouth. Like Stan wuh-wouldn’t toss you out the wi-window right nuh-now” Bill rolled his eyes.

Stanley groaned, resting his chin on the palm of his right hand. He glared at Beverly, hiding his small smile behind his hand fingers. “Awhh cute, Stanny.” Beverly laughed, watching her blushing friend shake his head.

She continued,

 _“‘You’re no stranger, though I haven’t had the chance to see you. I really enjoy our conversations—’_ You talked to him again?” Bev’s smile was wide, green eyes bright as Stan nodded.

“Wall sex! Wall sex!” Richie chanted, hitting his fist on the table; Bill began to join, both men wearing cheeky grins as Stan covered his face, a muffled ‘beep beep’ coming from behind them. Beverly laughed, putting her hand up to silence the boys before she finished.

_“‘Hopefully we won’t have to do them at the late hours in between walls. —Stanley’”_ She smiled proudly, handing the note back to a now blushing Stanley. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Beverly mused Stan’s blonde curls with a teasing grin.

“Not _super_ romantic or poetic,” Ben chuckled at the eye roll her got from Stan. “but, nice, nonetheless.” They both exchanged smiles.

“Wh-what about the w-wall sex? You didn’t deny it thu-this time.” Bill taunted, to which Richie laughed ‘oh _yeaaah’_.

Stan rolled his eyes, putting the small note in an envelope and sealing it shut. “That,” He set the note to his left, crossing his legs. “Is _none_ of your business.” He said curtly, making all the other’s brows raise with surprise.

“Damn you think you know a guy, and then he gets some glory hole action and changes on you.” Richie mocked.

“That’s not what happened.” Stan deadpanned, getting up from the barstool to put the envelope into Mike’s mailbox before he could be bombarded with questions. As he walked outside, the early October breeze began to chill his arms, though he was layered in a heavy navy sweatshirt. He ran down the steps and up the ones that lead to Mike’s apartment.

The large orange door was illuminated by the porch lights. From the windows, Stan could see the warm lights turned on, shadows dancing on the walls, but he couldn’t find any figures that followed any of the shadows. His eyes flickered to the doorbell, glowing orange as the sky began to darken without the sun. Part of him itched to ring it, to find out if his suspicions were correct. However, they were ridiculous, so Stanley decided to place the note in the black mailbox, lifting the red flag.

Stanley began to walk down the steps, looking back at the large wooden door that glowed with warm energy and danced with twisting shadows. His body buzzed with pure curious energy, something itching to go back up and knock. His eyes glanced to his own door, and from his window, he could see his five friends talking with laughter on their lips and excitement in their eyes.  With a small smile on his face, he walked down the last of the steps and back up his own, pushing open his own black door and listening to the laughter that poured from the kitchen.

After managing to get Ben to drive their mildly lucid friends home at a reasonable hour, Stanley checked his mailbox for a letter, frowning when he didn't find one. He glanced a the mailbox in front of that large orange door, seeing the flag had been lowered.

Disappointment began to seep into his thoughts, but he tried to push them out of his mind as he went to take a shower, hoping the hot water would wash his worries down the drain. He tried to keep up his usual hour-long-relaxing shower, but his thoughts still permeated with Mike, thinking that a second wasted in the shower was a second without Mike.

After turning off the faucet and wrapping a towel around his waist, Stanley made his way back into his bedroom, the quiet melody of Nat King Cole’s voice filling his senses and his bedroom. The steam from his hot shower moved with him, the airy tendrils slowly making their way to the ceiling of Stanley’s bedroom only to slowly fade into nothing.

As Stanley quietly changed into a fresh pair of sweatpants, tossing his clothes into the hamper, he could hear a soft hum that accompanied the melody of _‘Unforgettable’._ The quiet noise went unnoticed until another voice began to sing along.

_“Like a song of love that clings to me_

_How the thought of you does things to me_

_Never before_

_Has someone been more…”_

The sound made Stan’s smile grow wider and wider, quietly listening as Mike’s soulful voice came from the other wall. The sound made his insides warm, walking back to the other side of the wall to listen to him sing the chorus in a voice made of milk and honey, so sweet and lovely to the ear.

 _  
_“‘That's why, darling,’”_ Mike began to sing again, the gentle sound making Stanley warm all over. “‘it's incredible,’” _Stan hummed in return. He was never one to sing, his voice quiet and unsure as he sang along with that beautiful voice. Mike began to sing with him, his more skilled voice harmonizing with Stan as they sang the famous tune.

 

_“‘That someone so unforgettable_

_Thinks that I am_

_Unforgettable, too…’”_

 

As Mike spoke again over the music, Stan could hear the smile in his voice. _“My parents used to play his records all the time when I was a kid.”_ He let out a nostalgic sigh, his voice now close to Stan's ear. The melody began to fade, the sound of pleasant strings and piano surrounding them.

 

“You have a lovely voice.” Leaning against the wall and pressing his head against it, Stan smiled. A bashful chuckle that came in response to the compliment.

 _“Thank you. I got your note; you’re very literate when you’re not drunk.”_ Mike teased. Stan’s voice broke into a laugh. His smile was wide. “Really?”

_“Yeah, I like talking to you… Maybe we can find some time to talk face to face… maybe…”_

The lilt in Mike’s voice was all too obvious, the implication making Stan’s heart race, palms becoming warm and moist with sweat.

 _“A date?”_ He offered softly. The idea automatically got Stan thinking of Librarian Mike at the thought of a 'date’ with Wall Mike. He stayed silent for a moment, trying to think, trying to piece it together. It seemed so numbingly obvious but so obviously ridiculous.

 _“...Stanley?”_ Mike asked experimentally.

 

“That sounds really nice, Mike, but I uh… I already have a date...” He said slowly as if bird watching implied any sort of romance. As if bird watching implied that he was dating Librarian Mike.

 _“It’s fine; I know, silly question, forget I said it…”_ Mike blurted with a forced laugh. The obvious disappointment in his voice made Stanley’s heart sink into his chest.

“I’m sorry, Mike.” Stan sighed, softly drumming his fingers on the side of the wall. “...talk to you later?” He asked.

_“Yeah, of course…” The faux-joy in his voice was so painfully obvious. “I gotta get to bed anyway.”_

“Good night, Mike.” Stanley said quietly. He waited by the wall for a response but was only met with silence. He leaned against the soft green paint, waiting, but he couldn’t hear a thing.

 

“...Mike?”

_“Good night, Stanley.”_

###  **< >**

 

The sun began to paint glowing beams of orange and yellow in Stan’s room, the gentle sight contradicting the noisy alarm coming from Stanley’s phone. With a groan, he rolled over in his sheets, fumbling blindly to reach the device on his bedside table before tapping madly at the screen until the buzzing and noise ceased.

 

He laid there for a moment, listening to the quiet hum that always accompanied any early morning on a weekend. It was a soft, gentle feeling that would wash over him in waves. The rising sun warmed his bare skin as he rose, humming softly as his limbs stretched and his back arched. The sun made him squint slightly as he got out of bed, hobbling to the shower to get ready.  

 

As he got dressed to meet Librarian Mike, he couldn’t help but feel mildly guilty about the man that lived on the opposite side of the wall. Something within himself was riled up, yelling something so obvious in his mind; in the haze of his own fatigue, he chose to ignore it, throwing a worn jean jacket over his shoulders and letting a long grey scarf hang loosely around his neck with all the strength and alertness he could muster, still mildly asleep in the early hours of the Saturday morning.

 

Stanley gathered his field guide and notes, putting them into his backpack. As he did so, anxiety started to set in, and the quick thrum of worry that played on the beat of his heart started to awake the rest of his senses; his body was suddenly ridden with ‘what if’s. Though the thoughts tried to pry their way into every crevice of his mind, Stanley shook the worry off, briskly leaving his apartment at 6:45 just as the sun’s rays began to crawl over buildings.

 

Along the path, he tried to find Mike, recalling that they planned to meet at the North Woods. The walk was a bit longer than he had anticipated, but Stanley seldom cared as he strode along the path, looking for any sight of his lovely librarian.

 

As he walked through Central Park, the leaves danced in the light breeze, crunching under

Stanley’s feet as he walked the path. The place was virtually empty. In the small bubble of trees and greenery was an absurd serenity that Stanley hadn’t felt since his days wandering the forest in Derry, Maine. The cool breeze that made his curls toss from side to side was more refreshing than any cup of coffee Stanley had ever tasted. The sun wrapped him up in its warmth and light, the feeling making his lips curl into a small smile of pure content as he walked through the towering trees, feeling sheltered under the old organism’s long, heavy branches.

 

“Stanley!” The sound of his name made his head of blonde curls turn in the direction of the source, a smile coming to his face at the sight.

Mike carried his backpack on his shoulders and warm smile adorned his face. He sported a thick, obviously warm green sweater, the colors contrasting with the orange leaves that fell from branches one by one and danced in the wind.

 

“Hey.” Stan sighed happily. He noticed the wicker basket in Mike’s hand as they began walking along the path together. “What have you got there?” His lips turned into a grin as he poked Mike’s forearm.

The question made Mike laugh bashfully. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had breakfast yet so, I decided to pack something to eat.” He looked up at Stan, who wore a smile.

“Like a picnic?” He teased a bit, making Mike roll his eyes, though he too wore a grin as he responded.

“If you’d like it to be, then yes, a breakfast picnic.”

 

The two of them crossed over the path to a cluster of trees, the grass scattered with colorful leaves that wrinkled under their matching footsteps. As they walked through silently, the sounds of the park surrounded them, the hush of the trees, the chirping of the birds, the echoing of the city slowly waking up with nature. It was a content silence they shared, no tension, no unspoken thoughts, just the trees, the city, and each other’s company.

 

Mike set the basket down under a large oak, the sky hidden by the branches that extended over the two of them. “Is this okay?” His eyes looked to Stanley. He didn’t get an answer from the other man, whose eyes were glued to the trees with a smile, hazel eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. Mike smiled softly at the sight, deciding that Stanley’s reaction was enough of an affirmation of his question.

After setting down his things, Mike quickly unrolled a blanket he had kept in his backpack, placing it in the shade of the large trees. He sat on top it, legs extended, watching Stanley wander a bit further away from his spot, head tilted up towards the trees. Though Stan’s back was towards him, Mike had a hunch that there was still a delighted smile on his lips.

 

“Stanley!” Mike laughed, the mop of blonde curls tossing as that bright smile faced him. Mike patted the spot on the blanket next to him, leaning back on his hands while Stan walked back over to sit next to him.

“Sorry,” Stan said with a huff as he sat down, crossing his legs on the blanket. “I always get so caught in the trees.” He smiled, gazing once again looking up up up to the branches.

 

The sight made Mike smile as well. “It’s okay. It’s kind of cute.” He said quickly in a bubbling laugh, turning his attention away from his comment and to the food he had brought in the wicker basket. He pulled out a thermos filled with coffee, two cups, and a red towel containing two blueberry muffins. He rummaged through his backpack a bit more, taking out a heavy book he had borrowed from the library. “Here.” Mike held out the heavy thing in his two hands. The sheer size of the thick book made Stanley’s eyes widen.

 

“What’s this?” Stanley’s question came out in a laugh of disbelief, taking the book from Mike’s hands and opening it up while Mike explained.

“Just something I found while working last night. It’s about the industrialization of New York City. There were a few in-depth sections about the effect it had on the environment.” Mike shrugged, a shy smile on his face as he quickly explained, fearing he would bore Stanley with the explanation.

The bright smile he got in return wasn’t the first reaction Mike was expecting, but better than his assumption.

“It’s perfect.”

 

After finishing the breakfast Mike had prepared, the two men walked through the park. While Mike pointed out various birds they spotted, Stanley was delightedly explaining the species to him. From time to time, if Mike pointed out a specific bird, Stanley would quickly make a note of it in his journal, flipping through meticulously written pages to either make a talley or to write down the specific bird.

 

“Is that your field guide?” Mike asked, pointing to the small notebook in Stanley’s right hand.

Stanley examined the book in question before nodding. “Do you want to take a look?” He asked, extending the leather-bound pages to Mike.

 

The other man took it gladly, silently admiring the inscription of Stanley’s full name before opening the book up. The pages were mildly worn from obvious years of use, but the dark ink was meticulous, clean. Ever label, every entry was neat and well organized. The perfection of the journal in its entirety was quite admirable. Each sentence was rigid, every letter straight like soldiers in a line.

 

Stanley's handwriting, though quite unique, looked oddly familiar. The crossing of the t's, the curve of the s’s; even the way the tail of the g's and y's hung looked oddly familiar. He read over some of the entries, turning to the more recent ones to read about Stanley's account of the day so far.

 

 _‘10.06.18: Bird Watching With Mike’_  

 

The title made him smile, the words somehow jumping from the page. A small voice began to talk wildly in the back of his mind, trying to get him to figure out why the sight was so familiar. The upward stroke of the ‘m’, the perfect dot above the lowercase ‘i’, all traced with unmatched perfection, so similar to…

 

_‘Dear Mike’_

 

His breath was suddenly pushed from his lungs as the realization hit him, eyes wide. He stopped in his tracks.

 

Stanley.

 

 _Stanley, Stanley, Stanley._ It made so much sense, it felt so plain, so clear. Mike felt himself on the verge of wild laughter from the sheer obviousness of the whole situation. Of course. Mike looked at the perfected letters on the page, smiling warmly at their familiarity. He looked up to find Stanley just a few paces ahead of him with a curious gaze.

 

“Everything okay?” Stanley laughed, walking back towards him.

 

Mike felt suddenly spellbound by Stanley’s presence. He felt completely flustered as he finally found the true identity of both men he adored at once. The same man. One man. Stanley.

The sunlight catching in his golden curls, the joy that made his pretty lips curl into a smile, all made Mike suddenly weak. Hazel eyes gazed at him with playful affection. Mike swore he could melt on the spot.

 

“It’s uh,” Mike finally began to speak again. He glanced down at the pages, then back to Stanley. His heart raced in his chest, palms suddenly becoming slick as he decided as what to do. Stanley got closer and closer; Mike could see a curious glimmer in those pretty hazel eyes.

“What is it?”

 

Mike looked down at the pages once more, his tongue slipping out to wet his lower lip in thought before his eyes met Stanley's again. He sucked in a quick breath, closing the gap between them.

 

Stanley let out a soft noise of surprise when Mike’s lips pressed to his own, but he quickly relaxed. The startled noise became one of delight. Mike's hands held onto Stanley's shoulders as best he could, still keeping the journal in his right hand while he held the other man close. The kiss made Mike relax, filled with relief, joy, delight. He went slow, his left hand eventually moving to hold Stanley's face gently. He wanted desperately to convey his thoughts, knowing that his words lacked what he wanted to truly say.

As he pulled away he could see Stanley's pupils blown out of proportion, cheeks red. He looked almost stunned, hazel orbs huge like a deer in headlights.

 

“Sorry,” Mike said quickly, drawing away from Stanley with a diverted gaze. He started to apologize but stopped when a hand took the journal from him, replacing it with a gentle grasp. Mike looked up.

Stanley, still blushing, smiled a bit as if he knew. “It's okay.” He gave Mike's hand a gentle squeeze. “You wouldn't want to say, walk me home?” He offered with an arched brow.

The suggestion made both of them laugh heartily, their fingers easily becoming intertwined. They began their trek back home, hands still loosely interlocked as they strolled out down the street their apartments were on.

 

“Stanley, Stanley, Stanley…” Mike sighed quietly, shaking his head with a grin. “Why didn't you say anything?” They stopped in front of their doors, Stanley standing by the steps to his apartment and Mike across from him.

Stanley shrugged. “It just seemed too good to be true.”  

“Really?” Mike chuckled, brow arching. “What was too good?” He pressed with a grin.

“That my kind neighbor is _also_ the cute librarian? Seemed a little too perfect.” He shrugged, looking to see Mike become a bit puzzled before he began to laugh.

 

“Well, I could say the same thing to you, what with you being perfect and all.” Mike grinned at his own compliment, chuckling at the eye roll he got in response. Stanley’s fingers curled a bit tighter around his own, squeezing gently. He looked at their intertwined fingers, smiling fondly at the sight before bringing Stanley’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. He watched Stan’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “Can I come in?”

Stanley grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
